


Shrine

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: ? - Freeform, Abuse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anxiety, Because when do I ever successfully write anything else, Codependency, Insecure Patrick, M/M, Panic Attacks, Peterick can be seen as platonic if you'd like, Pining, Protective Pete Wentz, Too Many Metaphors, Toxic Friendships, bc why not, brief reference to suicide, not between Pete and Patrick, probably an abusive friendship, self-projection, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Patrick's caught in a bad friendship. Pete just wants to help but he's running out of ways to do that.<>If one of us is a funhouse mirror then who is the twisted glass?And who is the reflection, the distortion, the reality trapped inside?I don’t mind never knowing the answer like you don’t mind my confusion.You spun the universe on your finger; you dragged me along to watchNeon stars sparkled for you, dazzling like flames meant for our hands to touch.You made the world our altar.And I decided to make you my shrine.





	Shrine

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii. How are you?
> 
> So. This is a thing. It's small. It's short. It's probably confusing. It doesn't really matter. And yet it's here. Do with that what you will.
> 
> I won't get into everything that this is but, basically, life can be a mess and I only really handle things by writing. So, throughout the past year or so, I've filled my google docs with dozens of short stories set in the same universe. It deals with codependent/toxic friendships and things like that and my connection to those themes is kinda why I've been a bit hesitant to post any of them. But writing isn't always helpful and I'm hoping posting will be a bit of a "release it into the wild" moment. Kinda cut it loose, right? 
> 
> All you really need to know for this AU is this: Jay Gatz (yes, that's a Gatsby reference, don't @ me), is a really bad friend. Patrick is incapable of leaving the friendship. Pete sees this and wants to help because he kinda really likes Patrick and wants him to be happy and treated well. Thus begins a bunch of conflict and trouble for our heroes. This particular fic is, I imagine, set somewhere after Pete's confessed his feelings and been rejected. There's a story out there about that too. Just wasn't the right time to post it yet.
> 
> Anyway, I might write a full fic with this world someday, we'll see. I might create a series and just put all the short scenes in there. But this is what we have now, haha. I hope it makes sense!

_ If one of us is a funhouse mirror then who is the twisted glass?  _ _   
_ _ And who is the reflection, the distortion, the reality trapped inside? _

_   
_ _ I don’t mind never knowing the answer like you don’t mind my confusion. _ _   
_ __ You spin the universe on your finger; you drag me along to watch

_   
_ _ Neon stars sparkle for you, dazzling like flames meant for our hands to touch. _ _   
_ _ You make the world our altar. _ __   
  


_ And I decide to make you my shrine. _

_ <><><> <><><> <><><> _

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and that I didn’t call ahead but I’ll be quick, I promise. Jay wanted to head out soon anyway so you don’t need to worry about—”

“Jesus, Patrick. It’s okay,” Pete says from the doorway. “Just come in.”

Pete makes it sound so easy— like they’re still friends, like Patrick didn't leave last time with a throat sore from yelling and eyes hot from tears. He places a hand on Patrick’s arm, leads him inside, keeps reassuring him that  _ it’s okay, trick, it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s—  _

It’s not fucking okay. Patrick had hoped Pete would have realized that by now. 

He doesn’t talk to Pete at first, doesn’t really even listen to what Pete’s saying. Probably asking questions about why he’s here after their last fight, after Patrick had told Pete that he didn’t need him. He’s probably making assumptions, blaming Jay and swearing to kill him. He won’t follow through, though. He never does.

Patrick knows what Pete’s thinking. He just doesn’t know if Pete will say any of it again. No one likes being a broken record no matter how comforting the repeated tunes can be.

Pete leads him to his couch, just one room away from the front, and Patrick follows behind with his lip between his teeth. Were the couch cushions that disturbed last time Patrick was here? Does that sweater on the floor belong to Pete? And how about those shoes, that hat? Patrick has a hole in his chest and he fills it with the image of Pete with someone else. That’s good, right? Pete should have someone else, especially since Patrick was so adamant that Pete couldn't have him.

But trying to fill that hole is like trying to shove a square into a circle. He’s a child who doesn’t know his shapes and, instead of learning, he’ll force it all to fit. It’s always worked before. It shouldn’t be any different this time just because it’s Pete.

“I can go if you need me to,” he ends up saying. But it’s not like he’s really saying it; it doesn't feel like it, anyway. He’s outside his body but still stuck in his mind, watching the scene play out as his nails tear across the screen.  _ Turn around _ he wants to tell himself.  _ Just leave Pete the fuck alone already, you clingy son of a—  _ “If you have someone here, I mean.”

Pete looks at him strangely. “I don’t have anyone, Patrick.”

Pete has this habit of saying Patrick’s name in nearly all his sentences, tacking it onto the end like a new punctuation. Patrick the period. Patrick the exclamation point.

Patrick Stump the Question Mark.

Pete shoves the hat off the couch and Patrick’s square finally fits in the right slot when he recognizes it as his own, left behind after storming out. But squares have sharp edges and Patrick can choke with guilt over the relief he feels.

He shouldn’t be here. Why is here?

“Alright, so, Patrick,” Pete says, a question mark this time. It’s usually a question mark these days. “Wanna sit?”

“Oh no, I… I shouldn’t be long, I just—”  _ I just wanted to see you because I never know what else to do, where else to go. I just wanted to talk because I missed your voice, even if it means you’re yelling. I just wanted to apologize because you were right you were right you were right you were— “ _ Sorry. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Furrowed eyebrows. Pete’s fallen into the couch but Patrick still hasn’t sat down.

“You said something about Jay before.” And his voice is as cold as this room though it’s summer, as hot as Patrick’s heart though he fears it’s frozen over. It doesn’t make sense and, yet, it’s the only way Patrick ever seems to feel it. “Does it have to do with—”

“You know what, this was stupid. I’m sorry.” His voice is a spiral, pleasant with one word and hysterical by the last. He’s too many octaves up, too many blocks away from home. “I shouldn’t even be here. Jay said that—”

He bites his tongue. Hard. Any other day, he might feel the slight burst of blood against his teeth but he can’t right now. 

He can’t do anything right now; he can’t do anything right.

“Fuck,” he says and the word is choked, strangled by his voice because he can’t even breathe without thinking of where he is. At last, some spooked part of his brain wakes up and Pete’s apartment goes from the faded sepia shade of nostalgia and into the HD vividness of now. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t- I need to go, Jay will be waiting and—”

And he’s not breathing again, not thinking. He’s not blinking or moving and his heart seems to have given up on beating.

_ You're just as bad as Jay. Just pick one friend and go. _

_ Jay’s known you longer. Jay knows you better. _

_ Jay Jay Jay Jay JayJayJayJayJayJayJay—  _

“Okay, we don’t need to talk about it.” Pete’s hands tighten on Patrick’s shoulders— how the hell did they get there? “I wanted to talk to you about some song ideas anyway.”

It’s stupid how the mere suggestion of music has Patrick gasping air back into his lungs as if resurfacing from the sea. It’s ridiculous how Pete’s kind brown eyes have him focusing back on the present.

Jay’s not here. Patrick still has a few minutes.

“Yeah, okay.” 

It’s not going to matter, whatever Pete’s ideas are. It’s all inconsequential and insincere chatter.

But it’s better than anything Patrick gets from anyone else.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

“—cheesy to put a name in a song, right? Yeah, you’re right, that’d be pretty cheesy. But if we put it in—”

Pete rambles and smiles and it’s times like this where Patrick likes to forget the world. Pete’s apartment isn’t the greatest but he’s done the best he could for a kid who dropped out of college a year too early. It’s warm and comforting, something like a pocket in the universe Jay’s created around him and his friends, and Patrick imagines escaping to here— but only from time to time.

It’s not like Pete’s never invited him to move in; rather, Pete’s invited him so often Patrick’s certain it’s more a friendly gesture at this point. Still, he wonders what might have happened if he’d taken him up on the offer. Just as he imagines what might have happened if he had said yes when, in the same voice he offers his apartment, Pete had asked to kiss him. Patrick had said no, the only time he's ever really said no, and he fears it was the one time he should have said yes.

Patrick wouldn’t mind waking up beside Pete, dressing in the same room as him, reading books over his shoulder when they’re supposed to be watching TV. He wouldn’t mind sharing this space, keeping it safe, keeping it theirs. 

But Patrick doesn’t just get people like Pete. He doesn’t get safe zones or hideouts in his world. Things are simply better that way. Better to make do. He’s friends with Pete and he’s okay missing him, the way he always misses him these days. 

The number of times he thinks of Pete seems to grow.

 “—you listening, Patrick?” Question mark. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” An automatic response, as comfortable as the wave Patrick does with his hand.  _ Look at me, all nonchalant  _ it says.  _ I’m fine _ . Pete’s distractions work but they can’t last forever. “I was just thinking… Well, I came over because I needed to tell you something.”

And just like that, Pete’s face darkens. “It has to do with Jay?”

Jay’s name isn’t quite the question that Patrick’s can be but it sends a chill down Patrick’s back anyway.

“I- Yeah. It does.” His tone is lighter than anything else Patrick feels within him, every organ becoming lead when Pete groans and turns his head away.

“Fuck, Patrick!” He snaps. Patrick doesn’t jump but he feels as if he might. “I thought we agreed you’d just leave that fucker by now. I’ve laid out all the ways that this friendship is bad for you but you won’t listen. Why can’t you just stay away?”

Stay away from who? It’s easier if Patrick thinks Pete is asking for him to stay away from here but only because he agrees.

“Screw you, he’s not that bad. I’ve known him longer than you have, or did you forget?” Patrick asks, staring down at his folded hands. His nails are dull from his picking and chewing at them, the sides a faint red from where he’s tugged too hard and drawn blood. “You don’t know him like I do, okay?”

But what does knowing Jay mean? 

It means knowing that he’ll ask where Patrick was, that he’ll be hurt that Patrick ran off to Pete again. It means thinking up lies he won’t be brave enough to say. It means feeling sick because Jay can be mean, so mean— but he doesn’t mean it, he never means it, it’s just joking. It’s just friendship and that’s how friends talk and Patrick should be grateful and—

Stop.

Pete’s hand wraps lightly around Patrick’s wrist, holding him on earth. His own personal gravity.

Patrick doesn’t tug away.

“Then what is it?” Pete asks. He’s trying to keep his voice gentle, Patrick can tell, but it’s not working as well as he’d probably like. “Patrick?”

Question Mark. One big fucking question mark.

Patrick doesn’t really want to tell Pete. He doesn’t want to lose this happy space, this place where he’s found someone soft and kind. Someone smart and easy to talk to. Someone who doesn’t take Patrick’s phone to point out all the missed texts, someone who doesn’t laugh at Patrick’s music, someone who doesn’t make him feel less than.

Patrick doesn’t want to lose this but—

“I’m moving. With Jay. Or, well, I’m moving in with him.” Patrick says it fast as if hoping it’ll speed him through this moment, through this life. “He found this place a few hours out and asked if I’d be his roommate. I said yes, so—”

“You said yes?” Pete pulls his hand away from Patrick’s wrist and Patrick knows it’s because he wants to make a fist, because he doesn’t want his rage to hurt Patrick in any way. Knowing this doesn’t stop Patrick from wilting at the loss.

“It’s not that far,” Patrick says, ducking his head just a bit. “Just a few hours. I could always drive back up or you—”

“You know it’s not about how far it is.” Pete’s tone is hard and his sentences have no punctuation, no precise pronunciation of Patrick’s name. “You know how bad he is for you and now you’re willingly going to live with him?”

“I told you already. He’s not bad.” Patrick runs his hands through his hair and he sits straighter, forcing himself to meet Pete’s eyes. “Don’t make a big deal over it, alright? He’s been looking for a place for months and finally found a nice one. He asked if I’d split rent with him and I’m not enough of a dick to tell my best friend no.”

“Your best friend, right.” Pete scoffs and shakes his head, legs bouncing erratically. “Because all best friends mock you about your job and then beg for your money. Has he even paid you back for that concert last month? Do you really think he’ll pay his rent, too? You ready to pay full price? Oh, but of course you are. Always so damn happy to do whatever anyone else asks, no matter how it affects you. Switch majors, turn down scholarships, move fucking hours away from your real friends and—”

“Just shut up already!” 

Patrick doesn’t mean to snap, he swears. This isn’t who he is, this isn’t what he is. Jay’s the one always talking tough  _ (he never means it).  _ Jay’s the one shouting whenever it suits him  _ (but he doesn’t mean it) _ . Jay’s the one snapping at friends, cutting them off, interrupting with a terrible glare and disgusted snarl. 

_ (but he promises he doesn’t mean it). _

Patrick’s hands shake. Jay’s his friend. Jay’s always been his friend. He’s known Jay longer than anyone else has. He was the one who befriended Jay, who reached out a hand— so why does Jay rub off on him and not the other way around?

“Oh, so you’re yelling at me now?” Pete asks. 

“No, I just, god, you don’t understand.” 

Patrick’s differences between Jay were supposed to stick. Opposites attracting, night and day in the best of ways. Every time he’s calmed Jay down, every time Jay’s stood up for him, Patrick’s reminded himself why they need each other. That was the solid pavement beneath his feet, the neatly clipped hedges in his life, the cornerstone and one thing worth believing.

But it’s broken a bit, now. Because he sees a haze of red when he looks at Pete and now he’s standing, now he’s shouting, now he’s doing everything he did last time because Pete brings out the worst in him, because Pete just won’t  _ listen _ .

“Patrick, come on.” Proof the world is fucked, Pete saying his name at the beginning. It’s nothing but a hook and it finds itself behind Patrick’s ribs, tugging his body away from his heart. “Listen to yourself. You know how many times that guy has stressed you out? He’s always taken advantage of you and it’s only going to get worse if you keep going along with his stupid plans. He won’t change.”

“He already has,” Patrick snaps again, fragments of his mind breaking off with it. “You were one of the assholes who left him so how should you know how he is? And I’ve changed, too, alright? I can stand up for myself. I don’t let him treat me like that anymore.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Pete asks, leaning in towards Patrick’s face, on his feet, now, too. “I’d really like to rub it in when you show up on my doorstep in tears a week from now.”

“Fuck you.” The words are barely words, more emotion than anything else. Patrick’s eyes hurt again and he doesn’t know if it’s tears or a nightmare that’s blurring his vision. His cheeks burn and his throat is tight, distorting every sound that escapes. “I don’t fucking need you to protect me. I don’t need you, Pete.”

There. An exclamation point. A period. A question mark. All three in one.

Pete draws back, eyes wounded. He has tears of his own hanging onto his lashes and, fuck, is this how Jay feels when he hurts Patrick? Is there supposed to be anything good about this?

No, but Jay always says he loves Patrick, that he cares about him. Patrick says the same to Pete— do love and loss always have to intertwine? Why is the measure of love loss?

“Fine, then.” Pete sounds more strangled than Patrick, more hollow than this room. “Then you should probably just go.”

Go. Right. Patrick should go but—

But does Pete ever want him to come back? Does he hate him now? Has Patrick gone too far? 

It’s selfish and it’s childish but Patrick suddenly can’t think of anything else.

“Wait, don’t be like that. Don’t hate me,” Patrick whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

_ I didn’t mean it _

_ I’ll always need you _

He doesn't know if that's his voice or Jay's.

Patrick hates the tears that sting his lashes, hates the wobble in his lips, hates the hideous choking breaths in his throat. He’s disgusting, a mess, and, still, he can’t bring himself to leave just yet.

_ Selfish ass _

“Don’t do that,” Patrick whimpers. “Don’t leave me.”

Everything falls from its place around Patrick; his mind, his friends, his life, his words. He tries to catch as many as he can, knowing it’ll mean nothing when they slip through his shaking hands anyway.

“You’re the one leaving, Patrick,” Pete says, though he’s already speaking in a calmer tone, though he’s already at Patrick’s side. He guides him back to the couch, setting him down. “Take a breath, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

_ And I don’t want to go with Jay _

Aren’t they the same thing? Leaving? Hurting?

Pete’s eyes burn for just a moment, a flare of something icy hot, and Patrick feels the weight of words he should have held back. 

“You don’t have to,” Pete says, answering the thing Patrick hadn’t meant to say, the thing that was supposed to stay inside his head. “I’ve told you, you don’t have to go and—”

“Can we stop talking about it?” Tears free themselves with a relentless rush in their escape, dripping off his chin and splashing onto his wrists. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to—”

Pete’s hands are still holding onto Patrick’s shoulders and, Patrick knows, even if he closes his eyes, the exact shade of hurt that lingers in Pete’s gaze.

“We don’t have to do any of that, then,” he says. Arms wrap around Patrick; Patrick imagines he can feel them. “Just do me a favor and breathe. Can you breathe for me, Patrick?”

Question Mark.

Patrick presses his face into Pete’s neck; he whispers Pete’s name into his skin.

If he can be a question, then why can’t Pete be his answer?

It’s nice to pretend it’s as simple as that. 

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Patrick used to think Jay was wrong, impossibly cruel, when he once said that tolerating sudden panic attacks wasn’t to be expected of a friend. He’d looked the other way at Patrick’s anxious tremors, uncomfortable as Patrick tried to laugh it off and pretend he wasn’t afraid of whatever Jay was doing now. Something to do with leaving him at a party, perhaps; or maybe it was that time he threatened to kill himself only for Patrick to drive over at three in the morning and learn it was  _ just a figure of speech, fucking hell _ .

Whatever the scenario, Jay had said that Patrick’s panic was unfair. He had cornered Patrick near the end, aftershocks of his anxiety still ricocheting around in Patrick’s body, and had told him that it was a burden.

_ “I’m your friend, not your mother. I get it, I do, but I don’t have to deal with it. You should figure that out yourself. Don’t expect anyone else to do it for you _ .  _ Besides, do you really think it’s fair that I have to worry about triggering you all the time? God, Rick. Learn to chill.” _

Patrick had been hurt— and he thought it was an understandable thing to feel. How dare his best friend— the friend he’d do anything for— shove him away like that? How dare he ignore everything Patrick’s ever done for him? The number of times Patrick ditched class in order to talk Jay out of running away, the number of times Patrick ignored other friends because he knew it would make Jay insecure, the number of times Patrick didn’t think twice about blaming himself for class bullshit because one more strike would send Jay out of school.

The number of times… they’re countless.

The thing is this— Jay’s magnificent. He’s brilliant. He’s beautiful in every way and touching him makes Patrick think he might, somehow, be beautiful, too. He’s clever— so damn clever— and he knows how to put a smile on Patrick’s face. Patrick never really had friends before him; he had people who knew his name, but never friends. 

But Jay… Jay was different. Jay  _ liked  _ him. Jay  _ picked  _ him.

Sometimes, Patrick tells himself this so often that he forgets it was the other way around.

He forgets that, though Jay dropped himself into the bench beside Patrick at lunch so many years ago in that high school, it was Patrick who first smiled at the new boy. He forgets that, though Jay’s popular now and his friendship is like an arcade token anyone could get, it was Patrick who introduced Jay to the rest of the kids. He brought him into the circle of his life, proudly showing off what little he had in hopes that Jay could make something of it for himself.

And, in return, Jay never left his side. 

Jay could burn skies with his words, could chill bones with his looks; Patrick’s been lucky enough to see it all. He’s certain that, if he wanted, Jay could balance the universe on his palm and teach it to expand in a different direction.

Jay presented the world to Patrick with a sharp smile and wicked laugh. He promised adoration and worship, an altar in the shape of the earth.

And, Patrick, moony eyes stuck on the shape of Jay’s grin, stripped himself and rested against their altar. Without being asked, he held his bare hands out to Jay and called him perfection. He’d give Jay all the adoration and worship he wanted if it meant he'd keep this light in his life.

He’d be the sacrifice so long as Jay was the shrine.

_ But then Jay had called him stupid. _

_ But then Jay had called him annoying. _

_ But then Jay had scoffed at his panic attacks and told him to keep them hidden _

Is this what Patrick has sacrificed himself for?

He imagined the ending would be more glorious than that.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Jay had refused to tolerate Patrick’s anxieties.

But Patrick’s not opening his eyes to Jay today.

Sitting in Pete’s living room, this familiar and unviolated space, Patrick’s world alters. It shifts into something gentle, something he will never unsee. 

“Are you alright? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Pete asks, only halfway frantic. He’s not holding Patrick the way he was before but he has a hand on his back, rubbing circles, and he has his eyes searching for something Patrick can’t see beneath his own pale skin. 

“My god, did I—” Patrick cuts off. He jerks slightly but not enough to shake Pete’s hold on him. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Pete says, eyebrows pinching together as if reaching out to one another. “I understand, I get it. It just scares me sometimes.”

Patrick swallows. He doesn’t meet Pete’s eyes. “I don’t want to scare you.”

Pete’s breath is deep, heavy with their last fight.

“Then don’t do anything stupid,” he says in a low tone. Patrick looks at him, waiting for the rest. “I care about you, Patrick.”

Period. End. Full Stop.

He’s not a question mark in this conversation.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” Patrick says. His words are small, shrunken by the knot still wrapped around his throat. 

“And you shouldn’t put yourself in situations where you get hurt. I don’t care if he never hits you, he still—” Pete’s circling motions pause but only so he can hold onto Patrick’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “You deserve better. That’s all I’m saying.”

God, Pete makes it sound like it’s abuse, like it’s something Patrick needs to escape. He knows Jay’s bad but he’s just a guy Patrick knows. He’s just a friend, and don’t all friends joke like that? If they were dating— a thought that Patrick never entertains for long— he might understand the concern.

But they’re friends. And friendships shouldn't be able to break you like that.

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Pete says emphatically, sounding one protest away from physically shaking Patrick. “You deserve the world.”

Jay’s said the same thing but he’s never said it like that.

He’s never said it like Patrick’s actually supposed to believe that it’s true. 

When Patrick meets Pete’s gaze, it’s with widened eyes. His cheeks feel hot and he doesn’t know if it’s from his crying or something else, something forming just now.

“You really think that?” Patrick asks.

Pete nods. “I know it.” 

Patrick would give anything to be as certain as Pete right now.

“I… I want to—”

He’s cut off when his phone rings. It’s a sharp piercing sound of bells like a hurricane sweeping through a church, like a windchime coming undone.

The same way Patrick hates the sound of his alarm when waking up, he’s grown to dread the sound of those bells.

“Jay,” Pete says. It seems Jay’s not a question mark in this conversation, either.

Still, Patrick nods. He doesn’t look at his phone, doesn’t think of how Pete’s grip has tightened on him or how comforting that is. “Jay.”

They watch each other until the phone’s stopped ringing, each second a new spot of terror in Patrick’s gut. He’s ignored Jay before but…

“Are you going to go with him?” Pete asks.

Like there’s supposed to be a simple answer. Is he going to abandon his best friend? Is he going to be that selfish?

Is he going to finally open his eyes and do what, deep down, he knows he should do? Is he ever going to find out how to escape this monster, this drain on his life, this nightmare?

Is he ever going to untie his wrists from the altar, stand and demand for the shrine to be burned? He’s imagined it a thousand times; why hasn’t he done it yet?

There are too few words for the things he feels and, yet, three sum his thoughts up with all the effectiveness of a gift-wrapped box. It’s empty and meaningless but at least it looks nicer than it is. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick says. “I don’t know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who took the time to read this! Comments are always loved but don't feel obligated :) You can find me on tumblr under the same user (hum-my-name). 
> 
> I'll be back to writing my chaptered fics in a bit! Sorry there wasn't that much Peterick in this one-- the ship doesn't fit until much later in this world haha
> 
> (fun fact! the poem thing at the beginning of the work is mine. It's part of a much longer thing I wrote in a poetry class last semester and it is one of my favorite things I've written)


End file.
